“C’mon.” Maya turned to go inside. Emily, not sure what else to do, followed.
She trailed Maya up the creaky, twisty stairs of the inn to her 1776-themed bedroom. It smelled like wet wool. It had slanted pine floors, a shaky, queen-size four-poster bed with a giant crazy quilt on top, and a puzzling contraption in the corner that looked like a butter churn. “My parents got my brother and me separate rooms.” Maya sat down on the bed with a squeak.
“That’s nice,” Emily answered, perching on the edge of a rickety chair that had probably once belonged to George Washington.
“So, how are you?” Maya leaned toward her. “God, I saw you at the funeral. You looked…devastated.”
Emily’s hazel eyes filled with tears. She was devastated about Ali. Emily had spent the past three-and-a-half years hoping Ali would show up on her porch one day, as healthy and glowing as ever. And when she started receiving the A notes, she was sure Ali was back. Who else could have known? But now, Emily knew for certain that Ali was really gone. Forever. On top of that, someone knew her squirmiest secret—that she’d been in love with Ali—and that she felt the same way about Maya. And maybe that same someone knew the truth about what they’d done to Jenna, too.
Emily felt bad, refusing to tell her old friends what her notes from A said. It was just…she couldn’t. One of A’s notes was written on an old love letter that she’d sent to Ali. The ironic thing was that she could talk to Maya about what the notes said, but she was afraid to tell Maya about A. “I think I’m still pretty shook up,” she finally answered, feeling a headache coming on. “But, also…I’m just tired.”
Maya kicked off her boots. “Why don’t you take a nap? You aren’t going to feel any better sitting in that torture contraption of a chair.”
Emily wrapped her hands around the chair’s arms. “I—”
Maya patted the bed. “You look like you need a hug.”
A hug would feel good. Emily pushed her reddish-blond hair out of her face and sat down on the bed next to Maya. Their bodies melted into each other. Emily could feel Maya’s ribs through the fabric of her shirt. She was so petite, Emily could probably pick her up and spin her around.
They pulled away, pausing a few inches from each other’s faces. Maya’s eyelashes were coal black, and there were tiny flecks of gold in her irises. Slowly, Maya tilted Emily’s chin up. She kissed her gently at first. Then harder.
Emily felt the familiar whoosh of excitement as Maya’s hand grazed the edge of Emily’s skirt. Suddenly, she reached underneath it. Her hands felt cold and surprising. Emily eyes shot open and she pulled away.
The frilly white curtains in Maya’s room were open wide, and Emily could see the Escalades, Mercedes wagons, and Lexus Hybrids in the parking lot. Sarah Isling and Taryn Orr, two girls in Emily’s grade, sauntered out of the restaurant exit, followed by their parents. Emily ducked.
Maya sat back. “What’s wrong?”
“What are you doing?” Emily covered her unbuttoned skirt with her hand.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Maya grinned.
Emily glanced at the window again. Sarah and Taryn were gone.
Maya jiggled up and down on the bed’s creaky mattress. “Did you know there’s a charity party this Saturday called Foxy?”
“Yeah.” Emily’s whole body throbbed.
“I think we should go,” Maya continued. “It sounds fun.”
Emily frowned. “The tickets are $250. You have to be invited.”
“My brother scored tickets. Enough for both of us.” Maya inched closer to Emily. “Will you be my date?”
Emily shot off the bed. “I…” She took a step backward, stumbling on the slippery hooked rug. Lots of people from Rosewood Day went to Foxy. All the popular kids, all the jocks…everyone. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Maya looked confused. “It’s over there.”
Emily shut the crooked bathroom door. She sat on the toilet and stared at the print on the wall of an Amish woman wearing a bonnet and an ankle-length dress. Perhaps it was a sign. Emily was always looking for signs to help her make decisions—in her horoscope, in fortune cookies, in random things like this. Maybe this picture meant, Be like the Amish. Weren’t they chaste for life? Weren’t their lives maddeningly simple? Didn’t they burn girls at the stake for liking other girls?
And then her cell phone rang.
Emily pulled it out of her pocket, wondering if it was her mother wanting to know where Emily was. Mrs. Fields was less than pleased that Emily and Maya had become friends—for disturbing, possibly racist reasons. Imagine if her mom knew what they were up to now.
Emily’s Nokia blinked, One new text message. She clicked READ.
Em! Still enjoying the same kinds of *activities* with your best friends, I see. Even though most of us have totally changed, it’s nice to know you’re still the same! Gonna tell everyone about your new love? Or shall I? —A
“No,” Emily whispered.
There was a sudden whoosh behind her. She jumped, bumping her hip on the sink. It was only someone flushing the toilet in the next guest room. Then there was some whispering and giggling. It sounded like it was coming from the sink drain.
“Emily?” Maya called. “Everything okay?”
“Uh…fine.” Emily croaked. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and hollow, and her reddish-blonde hair was disheveled. When she finally emerged from the bathroom, the bedroom lights were off and the shades were drawn.